A Letter to No one
by Hoping for Eternity
Summary: I'd always considered myself different from other people. It wasn't until I moved to Forks that I felt truly content for the very first time in my 17 year old life. But even then, something was terribly wrong. AU/AH, Bella/Edward, rated M to be safe
1. Prologue

**A/N: **My very first Twilight fanfiction is up and running. It's pretty exciting to dive into a new fandom like this, although this is somewhat AU. This story has been plaguing my mind for a while now, and everytime I've started it, a new plotbunny has made it impossible for me to continue. I've settled with a storyline now however, and have a few chapters written. This will not be your typical Bella/Edward fanfic, and while keeping some of Bella's personality traits, she is still slightly OOC. I hope you'll enjoy this anyway, and remember: reviews are always welcome.

I recommend you set you site to 1/2 up in the right corner, as it will make this easier to read.

**Full summary:** I'd always considered myself different from other people. It wasn't until I moved to Forks that I felt truly content for the very first time in my 17 year old life. But even then, something was terribly wrong.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or any of its original characters - all credit goes to Meyer. I do own the Brown family, however, and other OC's that may show up later in the story.

**Warnings:** Rated M to be safe. This story contains mentioning of alcohol abuse, self-destructive behavior and cursing. New warnings will be put up with each chapter, so that my readers won't come across any unwelcomed surprises. I should mention that English is not my first language, and some spelling- and grammar errors may occur. I apologize in advance.

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**Prologue – A Letter to No one**

Reality: The world that we all live in, our daily lives attached to one another by an invisible string made out of the concept that is time; something that all humans have to deal with whether we like it or not. I am a part of the last group of people, of those who despise reality, and sometimes try to escape the path that faith has forced upon them. During my 17 years of existence, I've come up with several escape routes. I discovered early on that drawing would take my mind off things. Something as simple as stick-figures created by a childish hand, colored with several different crayons was enough to make my days just a little bit more bearable. Later however, my methods became more drastic. Books have always offered the comfort that I've searched for my whole life, allowing me to journey to another country, in someone else's mind. I never put my books away, they stayed with me until this day where I'm about to step into early adulthood. Books are fantastic, a gift sent to all of us less fortunate people who need to believe in something to lessen the pain. Unfortunately, as one goes from one awkward stage in life to another, more is needed to keep the thoughts at bay. I had my first real alcoholic drink the day after I turned 14. My adoptive parents had gone out for the night, deciding that I was too old for a babysitter and could manage on my own. Oh how wrong they were. It wasn't long before I discovered the hidden key to my father's liquor cabinet by sheer accident, and it doesn't take many guesses to figure out the outcome of that episode. Needless to say, my father kept the key better hidden after that dreadful day when they arrived home early only to find my teenage self passed out on the leather couch, a bottle of whiskey toppled over on the floor. I'd had my first taste of absolute oblivion, though, and the damage was already done.

A month later I was found in the much same position, the bottle of whiskey replaced by pure Vodka this time, and my parents decided it was time for them to take matters into their own hands as a way to make me see reason. Their brilliant solution had me sitting in a shrink's office not long after, the poor doctor trying in vain to get me to spill my deepest, darkest secrets. I merely raised an eyebrow at his pathetic attempts, refusing to utter a single word. My parents were at a loss, feeling as though they'd been stuck at a dead end ever since they'd brought me home from the orphanage when I was seven. I'll admit I didn't go out of my way to make their lives any easier. However, I never intentionally tried to hurt them either – my motives were purely egoistical and I excused my behavior by pointing out that I wasn't harming anyone other than myself. I was wrong, of course, as most teenagers are whenever they're trying to justify their reckless behavior. I refused to listen to any reasoning escaping my parents' mouths, turning the deaf ear whenever one of them would bring the subject of alcohol on the table. They went as far as cleaning out the liquor cabinet, but I always ended up finding my much needed peace elsewhere. I'd never had any friends, but by the time I turned 16, I was one of the most well-known people at school. Even though I didn't really care, it was hard to ignore all the rumors flying around about the wild Swan girl who continually showed up drunk in classes. I made friends with the wrong people – teenagers who knew how to get all the strong stuff that I eventually craved, and it's safe to say that my parents absolutely despised them.

I lost my virginity one night I'd had a little too much of the burning liquor, to a guy that I later on couldn't even remember what looked like – let alone what name he went by. My girlfriends cheered me on, as I was the last in our little group to finally let someone so intimately close to me. I was used to faking smiles at the time, so I let them chatter on about how "my guy" was the hottest they'd ever seen, and how lucky I was that he was so gentle with me. I'd only made up the gentle-story though – I couldn't remember a single thing from the whole experience. They were great friends in the sense that they had older friends that often took us out partying. But shallow friendships like that rarely leave any imprint on a person's life, let alone mine as I'd never really been easy to impress. They were fun to hang out with – besides the alcohol they were my second most important escape route, and I appreciated their constant patience with my moody self. It wasn't a big loss however, when I finally came to my senses one night, waking up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning, seeing my parents' distressed faces at the foot of my bed, and I decided that enough was enough. I cut contact with all of them, and went back to being the person I was at 13 – the quiet, shy girl who rarely spoke unless spoken to. My parents thought of my behavior as an improvement, and I guess they were right at some point, but I was as miserable as I'd always been. It got better, however, the day I read a book that for the first time in a long time managed to capture my entire attention. That's how I discovered the secret worlds of Anne Rice and J.K Rowling among other fabulous writers. The alcohol was replaced by fairytales, and I finally found my days looking just a little brighter, bringing books with me to school and hiding out in the library during the breaks.

You probably think that – judging by my destructive behavior – I had a troublesome and traumatic childhood. That my need to get away from my life is induced by some painful memory I've tried in vain to escape from. If your assumptions are what mention above, however, they would be far from the truth. Ever since I could remember, I've been different from other people. At first I thought it was because I had no living relatives left and the fact that I've spent the first seven years of my life in an orphanage. It became clear, though, as I was accepted into the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Brown that I was simply abnormal. When I finally had people to love me unconditionally, just like a child deserves to be loved, I spent years trying to prove their love false and shallow. Because, in reality, who could ever love a freak like me? My need to get away from them only confirmed my suspicion that there was something undeniably wrong with me. No matter where I went, or how I turned every thought around in my head, the outcome was never the same as my fellow specimen. Whenever a person laughs, I cry. If someone is sad, I rejoice. What sense is there to be found in a person's mind when the person itself can't make sense of its own thoughts? That's how I knew from the very beginning that a shrink isn't the way to go. If someone is ever to help me sort my chaotic brain, he or she needs to be tuned in on the same frequency as I am. So far, no such person has ever crossed my path. And above all else, this fact disturbs me the most.

I am 17 years old. But I am nowhere a teenager at heart. If nothing, I'm just simply old, worn out before even being ridden into this thing called life. Reality: The very thing I dread the most, but long for with all of my heart. Because, really, who wouldn't wish for the smile that graces an innocent child's face who's yet to realize that life isn't the fairytale that books make it out to be? By now, I know that if I am ever to smile like that, it isn't going to be a result of my father's awful jokes, or my mother's delightful cooking. That choice was never mine to make. My real smiles come out in the darkness whenever I think of a special paragraph in a book, and I am someone else in my mind – a lead character receiving her very first kiss from the perfect guy, or the hero overcoming the final obstacle. And then I feel ungrateful for what has been handed over to me without me even asking: Mr. and Mrs. Brown, the house that we live in, the college money I know they've been saving up for my benefit for years. Why can't I find happiness in that, those silent tokens of appreciation and love? Why must I always stretch for more; for a person to simply understand the creature that I am, like the characters always do in books. Because the truth is, I always find the understanding I need in books; the main character is always as lonely as I am. And then, as I read on, I grow with that person, and rejoice whenever they accomplish something extraordinary that a normal, dull girl like me can never accomplish in real life. However, the sadness still manages to creep into my very bones even when I'm in my element; with my nose tucked in a book. Because as the story moves on, the character changes and by the end we are total opposites – where they have learned to be happy, I am still the same as I was at the very beginning, and suddenly I can't relate to that someone anymore. I can only wish to be like him or her, which I know will never happen.

Maybe my situation would've been more bearable had my real parents still been alive. Maybe I got my solitude person from my father, and he could relate to me somehow. What if they'd both been alive, and I was with them this very moment, happy and content because they actually _got_ me? This weird being that I am must've come from somewhere, right? But in the end, that's all I've got: maybes, and what ifs. Needles to say, that's not enough, and I know better than to dwell on such things. No, I have my books, and so far I need them far too much to let them go just yet. My parents show up in them sometimes, you see, in the form of fictional characters. Lupin is my dad and Tonks is my mother – the lonely wolf, and the childish girl giving birth to a baby boy who has to face a lifetime without any of them. I'm Teddy Lupin, but I've yet to find my match, and I have no godfather to tell me their story. No one knew how we all ended up in the car accident that fateful night so many years ago. Not a single whisper of knowledge besides that of an old buddy of my dad from his hometown. He merely ID'd the victims, informed the police that we were the only remaining members of the Swan family, and asked half-heartedly about my whereabouts before never being heard from again. Sometimes I hate this man, because he surely had a lot of things to tell me about the people who'd granted me life before disappearing forever. What right had he to sit on all of this information and never reaching out a helping hand towards his dead friend's daughter? And then I wonder: maybe he was simply waiting for my hand in return? I would never know though, because I had no way of contacting him. I didn't even know his name.

Sometimes I write letters, mostly to my parents. I never let anyone see them, so they stay hidden in the secret room in my ancient desk. To know that they're there makes me calm, and the reality of my situation suddenly doesn't seem so off at all. With these letters, life is more bearable, because I always write as if they're still alive and well, living somewhere a phone line won't reach them, and Facebook don't exist. Therefore, I have to do it the old-fashioned way and write letters. "Dear mom," I write, and tell her of my days living with my foster family. Sometimes, I even mention some of my inner turmoil. Today however, I write to you – a nonexistent someone that I've conjured up from nothingness so that I can finally find sleep. You are no one, but you listen all the same. I am grateful for your ability to read – because in my head you _are_ reading this – but at the same time, I appreciate your inability to speak. I don't need to hear voices on top of everything that's already going on, and I'm not entirely sure that I want to hear what you have to say. Unless you're that _someone_ who understands. If that's the case, I'd listen to you forever.


	2. A Little Piece of Past

**A/N: **Thanks to **EscapingGreatly **for your review.

Time for chapter 1, and it's by reading this that you'll understand some of what this story is really about.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or any of its original characters - all credit goes to Meyer. I do own the Brown family, however, and other OC's that may show up later in the story.

**Warnings:** Rated M to be safe. This story contains mentioning of alcohol abuse, self-destructive behavior and cursing.

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**Chapter 1 – A Little Piece of Past**

We'd be all right this time. That's what my adoptive parents had told me the day they came home holding a sheet with black letters adorning the surface, telling of their latest purchase. A picture of a house with white wooden walls, grand windows and a cute little front porch was situated on another sheet, showing what looked like a place where a happy family with an apple-pie life would live. That was not us, or so I'd thought, but my parents must've disagreed as they now presented me with a brand new future. Our new home. Wasn't it great? They'd asked, and I had to agree – the estate in itself was a fine sight, the large garden and dark forest stretching around it alluring somehow. But great for us? That, I wouldn't know.

Seeing the place with my own two eyes was a peculiar experience, however. We'd waited until I'd finished my junior year in High School before packing our belongings and hitting the road. Well, hitting the plane was more like it; there was no way I'd agreed to driving all the way from Phoenix to Forks, even though my parents suggested we could make a family-vacation-slash-road-trip out of it. I could be stubborn if I put some effort into it, something I'd already done on numerous occasions. There was no need to repeat past mistakes however, because my parents were obviously dead-set on making me as happy as possible, throwing their foolish suggestion hastily aside. I was glad, although a little guilty – they seemed to have really liked the idea of a road-trip. Good thing my attention span was short in the middle of all of my exams, or my bad conscience would've feasted on my brain.

The place was peculiar in the sense that I liked it almost immediately. Normally, I was more skeptical when it came to stepping out of my comfort zone. Maybe it was the fresh air, undisturbed and clear, nothing like our previous home. I imagined I could even see the stars at night, a prospect I found promising. I'd always loved the stars. My approval must've showed on my face, because as I slammed the car door shut, my mother was at my side instantly, all but jumping with excitement. I found it endearing.

"It's nice," I said before she could even open her mouth, and she flung her arms around me, hugging me tightly.

"I knew you'd like it. I knew it!"

I rolled my eyes and carefully pried her hands away from me, taking a calculating step back; all the while making sure the motion wouldn't upset her. She always hated it when I pulled away from her. Her brown eyes dulled a little, but I guess her childish joy outdid any insecurity her mind possessed, and she simply pulled on my hand. I followed politely, walking around our red BMW so that we could get a better view of the house, stopping next to my father. Mom went around him, and he pulled both of us to his sides, grinning as we craned our necks to take in the sight in front of us.

"Welcome home, guys," he said.

"Welcome home to you too," my mother replied happily, pecking his cheek.

I smiled, my eyes travelling over the exterior of the house. It was clearly old, but well-kept. Surely, it must've been renovated at some point, probably going through a major transformation in the process. One thing was for sure, however: the pictures hadn't done this place any justice. Because I had school, and my father couldn't get time off work, we'd relied entirely on the information handed to us by the real estate agent. My parents had let me in on their plan once the house had been bought and paid for, but they'd still been apprehensive. What if it had all been a big beautiful lie and the place was nothing like what we'd been told? Maybe the pictures had been taken a long time ago and no longer represented the truth? It was safe to say that it was even better than any of us had ever pictured it, and my parents' instincts had been proven right once more. It represented everything they'd ever wanted: a place for us to heal old wounds, move on and start an entirely new life. The garden surrounding both the house and the driveway was deep green and covered in several flowers, all of them thriving in the moist atmosphere. My mother was probably itching to get some much needed work done, her green fingers practically twitching impatiently. Dad would find his refugee out on the lake where he could spend his alone-time in total peace and quiet while trying to catch our dinner in the process. The rainy weather was a welcomed addition, because the fish always ventured to the surface when it rained – or so my father said anyway. I, on the other hand, felt a sudden urge to go hiking, despite my clumsy nature. The forest stretched from the back of the house, surrounding the entire estate and it would be a shame to let such scenery go unnoticed. Living here would be an adventure, indeed.

I was woken up from my reverie by the jingle of keys as my father teasingly shook them before my eyes.

"Bella, would you do the honor?"

I silently accepted them, pressing the cold metal against my palm, taking comfort from the sensation. Walking at a slow pace, I heard my parents speak excitedly to one another as they followed suit, our feet making a thumping sound as we walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. An old fashioned garden swing was situated there, its pillows worn out by the weather and what could only be frequent use. I knew mom would uphold the tradition, and I could already picture her sitting there during lazy Sunday mornings, the newspaper in her lap while sipping a cup of coffee. I smiled adoringly and found myself wishing for that day to arrive sooner than later. Inserting one of the keys into the lock, I turned it around and an audible click announced that I'd chosen the correct one at first try.

"Go on!" Mom urged, pushing impatiently at my back. I obediently did as I was told, and stepped into a huge hallway. I heard my mother inhale sharply at its size before walking further into our future home. I was met by a set of stairs, the wooden banisters carrying carved patterns atop of their surfaces. The decoration was beautiful and old, and I let my finger trail a flowery pattern slowly, feeling the smooth material glide effortlessly under my skin. Turning my head, I saw that I had two options to choose from: there were two doors situated in the space, one to my left and one to my right. I chose the latter one first, as that was the one my parents had just existed through. I found them gushing and laughing in a huge kitchen, a counter separating the space from the dining room.

"Finally, a kitchen worthy of your talent," dad praised, letting his hand rest on a countertop – much like I'd done with the banister a few seconds previous.

Mom smiled at the compliment and rested her head on his shoulder lovingly.

"Thank you for doing this for us," she whispered, and I knew they had yet to notice me standing in the doorway. This was obviously turning into a private conversation.

I cleared my throat and stepped into the dining room, noticing with awe a huge table situated in the middle of it, its material matching the banisters'. It must've come with the house, and was probably the same age as well.

"What do you think, honey?" Mom asked as she became aware of my presence.

I could almost feel both of them holding their breaths as they awaited my verdict. Letting my face soften into a genuine smile, I turned towards them, giving them an honest reply.

"I love it, although I still have some exploring to do,"

"Well then," mom beamed, walking around the counter and joining me by the table," let's go exploring together,"

She linked her arm with mine, and this time I didn't shy away. My mother's smile was far too beautiful and carefree to vanish.

The next fifteen minutes were spent going through every room the house consisted of, and I noticed – to my delight – that I had a bathroom all to myself. My bedroom was bigger than the one in Phoenix, but not large enough to make me feel naked and vulnerable when entering it. The walls were painted in a bright color, making it look twice its size. My parents' room was the largest bedroom, and my mother spent a good five minutes gushing over the wallpapers. When I finally managed to drag her away from it, we walked through two guestrooms, a master bathroom, and a living room. It was there that we found another piece of furniture that originally didn't belong to us, but who brought another smile on my parents' faces. It was a grand piano, black in color and situated by one of the windows that overlooked part of the garden, the driveway as well as the garage.

"I can finally teach you how to play," mom said, and I quite liked that idea. Piano was the most beautiful instrument by far – at least in my eyes – and I would love to be able to make some good use of this fine example.

All throughout the house, we stumbled upon boxes containing our belongings that the moving company had placed in different rooms after bringing them from point A to B the previous week. We quickly went to work and unpacked the most important things, such as the kitchen and bath supplies. It was already quite late, and the rest could wait until tomorrow. Being bored by all the unpacking, I volunteered to take the car and go groceries shopping. Getting my wish granted with a final "be careful" speech and road directions, I skipped down the front stairs and towards the BMW, eager to lay my eyes on my new home town. A small part of me was actually curious as to what it would look like, having never ventured out of the Arizona area before. Although my parents hadn't brought up their motive for moving to this exact town, I was well aware of the fact that this was the place where my biological father had spent his earlier years – how many, I had no idea. For the first time, I would get a glimpse of my fathers', and therefore my own, past. It was scary bust strangely thrilling at the same time. I sped down the deserted road, noting how the wild forest towered on each side of it, dark and mysterious. I'd always loved the dry and warm climate in Phoenix, and I knew the humidity of this place would require some adjustment from my side. So far I wasn't complaining, though. Driving through the quiet streets of what made up the town, I realized how small this place actually was. You could drive through the entire area at one go, and it would only take you about ten minutes. How strange. Stopping by what could only be the only grocery store in town, I killed the engine. Three other cars were situated on the parking lot, all of them older than dad himself. Snorting, I threw the door open and quickly clicked the alarm on – which was probably quite unnecessary – and walked towards the shop. The moist wind made my hair curl at the ends, and I fastened it in a bun to prevent it from turning into the disaster it actually was. I hadn't had time to unpack my flattening iron yet. Entering the double doors, my eyes swept over the cash register. A middle aged woman sat there, her hair badly dyed and probably done by herself; what was meant to be blonde looked close to orange in the sharp light. She greeted me with a nod of her head, in which I politely returned before grabbing a basket and diving in between the aisles. The selection was nothing like back in Phoenix, but at least they had all necessities in order. Grabbing what I knew we would need to survive the next couple of days I faced the woman once more.

"Good evening dear," she said as she counted up the groceries, the outdated machine beeping loudly.

"Good evening,"

"Haven't seen you around here before. Passing through?"

Of course, in a small town like this, everyone would know each other – they were all probably on first-name-basis.

"Just moved her," I answered, willing her to speed up the process so I could get out of there.

My reply made her pause her actions however, and she looked at me more closely.

"You're part of the Brown family?"

She'd heard of our arrival, and I grew more uncomfortable by the second.

"Yes," I nodded.

"Well, nice to meet you dear!" She said, her mood instantly lifting considerably.

I muttered a silent thanks as she finished up and handed her a couple of bills.

"I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, then. I'm Daisy,"

"Bella," I answered while accepting the now full bag of food.

"That's a beautiful name, dear,"

"Thank you," I shifted my weight from one foot to another, whishing the conversation to be over.

"Well I won't keep you. You say hello to your folks from me,"

"Will do,"

"Bye Bella," Daisy smiled, waving her red nails at me.

"Bye,"

As I stepped out of the store I gulped in some much needed fresh air. If shopping required this much socialization, what would be expected of me once I started Forks High after the summer? I dreaded the thought and pushed it away – for now.

During the next couple of days I managed to unpack all of my clothes and belongings. My mother and I ventured out of Forks to buy some new furniture, seeing as our new hometown didn't offer such supplies. The smiles on my parents' faces stayed put as they decorated the house, asking me to help placing certain objects from time to time. I was more than glad to help, and after they were done with the living room, I suddenly had a strange urge to rearrange everything they'd done. It felt as though the whole setting looked out of place. My parents wore puzzled looks once I explained this to them, and offered to let me place the furniture to my own liking. The result left them speechless – it was clear that my solution outdid theirs and made the room look more right somehow. More _homey_. We kept it that way, and I was happy. I didn't find this strange at first; this need to place everything on certain spots. But when I disagreed with my parents as they were about to set up the double-bed in their room, however, they firmly stood by their decision.

"Don't get me wrong honey, I'm glad you're trying to help, but I don't want the bed underneath the window. It's too drafty there, and you know how easily I catch a cold," my mother pointed out.

"But mom," I whined, pointing at the offending position of the bed, "it doesn't look good standing there. Trust me; it fits better beneath the window,"

"A no is a no, Isabella," dad said, his voice stern but cheerful all the same, "go mess up your own room if you want,"

"I'm already done with my room," I sighed.

"Well, why don't you go set up the master bathroom, then," mom suggested.

"But it's boring. The only thing that room needs is toilet supplies and they're already in place,"

"Fine," mom finally sighed as she helped dad lift the mattress up from the floor and onto the awaiting, misplaced bed, "you can go finish the kitchen, we still need to set up the dining table,"

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that we have to unpack it, rebuild it, and place it," mom laughed.

"What about the one that's already there? The one that came with the house?"

"That old thing?" Dad asked.

"It's not that old," I replied grumpily.

"You didn't think we'd actually keep it? Honey, we're already keeping the piano,"

"Why can't we have both?" I asked, silently wondering why I found the thought of throwing away the table this upsetting.

"Because one can rarely have both, Isabella," dad said, his patience clearly growing thin.

"Well too bad," I said, pointing my nose high up in the air, "because we're keeping it,"

My parents adjusted the mattress before turning towards me, both looking startled.

"Why is this so important to you?" Mom carefully asked.

"Just because," I murmured uncertainly.

"If it's that important to you…" mom paused, stealing a glance at my father. He nodded his consent, eyes never leaving me in the process, "I guess we could keep it," she finished.

I beamed happily, "I'll go online and search for matching chairs!"

"Err…" mom frowned.

"That's fine Bella," dad interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips, "go have fun,"

I skipped out of the room, bouncing through the hallway on my way to my laptop. They would all have to be a rich brown color, just like the table, and maybe cushioned…

By the end of the week, the chairs were situated in their respective places. I'd been afraid they wouldn't match the table, but my nervousness had been for nothing; they fit perfectly. We had our first meal at the table that very evening, and I'm sure my eagerness must've showed. Mom and dad kept their comments to theirselves however, merely rolling their eyes and smiling happily. Happily because _I_ was happy, no doubt. I'd always known that my moods affected the two people closest to me, but it wasn't until now that I realized just how much. I decided then to make more of an effort around them, to make their lives as easy as possible; despite having a hormonal adopted teenager in the house. Our first week in a new home had finally come to an end, and I bid my parents goodnight before slowly walking upstairs. Everything was in order; every furniture placed in their rightful spots – besides that damned bed in my parents' bedroom. I didn't really let that last detail bother me anymore, I'd gotten to keep my table and was content with that. I'd also talked my parents out of moving the piano around. Yawning widely, I removed my clothes and hurried into my old pajamas before burying my tired body beneath the covers. My bedroom was perfect, decorated to my exact liking and I felt truly at ease in here. Sleep came easily, and it wasn't long before I slipped into peaceful oblivion, leaving all troubles behind.

My eyes fluttered open tiredly. The room was bathed in complete darkness, the massive color pressing at my eyeballs. It must've been pretty late. I was still exhausted and nowhere near fully rested so I turned around and burrowed my face in the pillow. Just as I was about to fall asleep once again, I sat up in my bed, frowning. So, I hadn't woken up by myself after all. Drifting through the floorboards came muffled notes, the sound so weak it was almost impossible to hear. Mom was playing the piano, of that I was sure. I strained my hearing, trying to make out the song. After a few seconds I smiled contently: I'd always loved Clair de Lune. My mother knew this and had probably chosen it in case the sound would wake me up – which it had. Deciding I was too tired to make my way downstairs at this ungodly hour, I laid back and let the music lull me to sleep, thinking I might as well postpone complimenting her skills until the morning.

But, when I finally did mention her playing over breakfast the following day, all I was met with was a confused look and my mother telling me it must've been a dream; she had most certainly not played the piano during the night, and if she did decide to wake up the whole house later on, she would not choose Clair de Lune to do it with – a song she'd never bothered learning how to play.


	3. The Swan Song

**A/N: **Thanks again to **EscapingGreatly **for your support.

We're about to dive further into this story, and I'd really like to hear people's thoughts on this chapter. If you're a reader, then please be a reviewer as well.

I've made a couple of wallpapers for this story, and they can be found here:

**1) h t t p : / / i 1 9 3 . p h o t o b u c k e t . c o m / a l b u m s / z 2 0 6 / c a e l i s e / a l e t t e r t o n o o n e . j p g **

**2) h t t p : / / i 1 9 3 . p h o t o b u c k e t . c o m / a l b u m s / z 2 0 6 / c a e l i s e / a l e t t e r t o n o o n e 2 . j p g**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or any of its original characters - all credit goes to Meyer. I do own the Brown family, however, and other OC's that may show up later in the story.

**Warnings:** Rated M to be safe. This story contains mentioning of alcohol abuse, underage drinking, self-destructive behavior and cursing.

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**Chapter 2 – The Swan Song**

I should have found the strange phenomenon that occurred already during the first week in our new house disturbing. Instead, I was simply curious, if not a little skeptical. Surely mom was right – it was just a dream. No matter that it had _felt_ real, sometimes your unconsciousness mess with your brain that way. I had always been a logical person, scoffing at supernatural solutions to perfectly explainable happenings. This was one of those cases where the scientist in me won the argument and quelled the childish fear that urged me to check under my bed every night. If anything, it was the living room I should be afraid of, seeing as that's where the incident had taken place. But I loved our new living room, and I spent many hours there with mom as she tried, in vain, to teach me how to play the piano. It was clear that there was no hidden talent bubbling under the surface of my personality, because I was an unusually slow learner when it came to the instrumental education. My mother laughed it away though, and I knew she was really enjoying spending those hours with me, so I let her try to imprint different notes into my unwilling brain. It was endearing, if nothing else, and I slowly but surely let some of my guards down, even smiling genuinely from time to time. Ever since my foolish early teenage years, the fragile bond that my parents and myself had managed to build during my childhood had been broken to such an extent it long seemed to be beyond any reparation. My assumption was slowly being proved wrong however, and I knew our new scenery had something to do with it. The atmosphere was so light here, almost as if the house was welcoming us and taking care of us, mending the broken communication by simply existing. I had fallen in love with the old place and I knew my parents were right behind me. We belonged here, and I almost regretted the years we'd spent away from it, knowing it would be hard for me to leave the day it was time for me to go to college in a year's time. These thoughts were weird, because how could one feel such an odd connection to a thing rather than a being? But then again, my head had always worked in mysterious ways so it wasn't something I dwelled on. I simply accepted the feeling of belonging somewhere and basked in it. Yes, life was turning out to be quite good all of a sudden.

This all didn't mean that my problems had simply vanished, however. I still had days where I felt like sleeping in instead of exiting the bedroom and facing reality once more. My parents knew when to leave me to myself however, and I appreciated that. My books were never far away from my side, and I'd already managed to make a trip to the local bookstore to update my collection. Once my father set the liquor cabinet in place, I intentionally avoided looking at it, much to my parents' displeasure. They knew that a breakdown was far too close to the surface to their liking, but fortunately they let the issue rest for now. No need to rip up old wounds. I stood my ground and refused to find myself a local psychologist; my parents hesitantly accepted my decision, but made me promise to come to them in my time of need. Such a proposal would've offended me in the past, making me seem so much younger than my 17 years, but now I didn't mind so much – especially seeing as I felt more comfortable around the two nowadays. I still didn't think we'd ever be able to live the life my parents had dreamed about; no white-picket-fence was anywhere in sight and I doubted it ever would be. But we managed with what we had; the pieces of a broken puzzle slowly but surely coming together and mending itself without much intervention from any of us.

The first month went by in a blur. We were all adjusting to the new life we'd chosen, exploring the town as well as the area around Forks. The first time my mom and I went to Port Angeles, she forced me into several clothing stores, intent on updating my closet. I had no idea where her sudden urge to go on a shopping spree came from, but I wisely kept my mouth shut – although I absolutely loathed shopping. Crowded stores had never really been my thing, whilst my mother was an absolute girl when it came to such things and more often than not she'd buy stuff for me rather than herself. She simply told me she envied my youth and my ability to wear anything I wanted without having to think about offending curves, and that It'd be a shame to let it go to waste by wearing my usually washed-out jeans and baggy t-shirts. It was a nice way of telling me I was underdeveloped and too skinny. However, it wasn't long until my closet was full of leggings and different tunics, all of them neutral in color so that I'd have no reason to refuse wearing them; my mother knew fully well how much I hated drawing attention to myself, and nothing screamed attention more than bright, strong colors – which is why I avoided them. Black, brown and grey were more my thing, and my mother begrudgingly accepted that fact, making sure I had every dark shade possible so that my tunics wouldn't end up lying around unworn for years. The latter was more likely to happen anyway; I loved my old, comfortable clothes and wouldn't rid myself of them willingly.

Other than that, life was pretty much back to normal now that we'd settled in, school drawing nearer by the minute, and my dread growing steadily along the way. Two weeks before the offending date, I ventured into town for a couple of hours to stop by the bookstore again. On my way back, I decided to give into my sugar-cravings, the small grocery store too tempting to just drive past. It was there that my limits were tested yet again, but not by Daisy this time, but in the form of a tall, blonde boy, entirely too-enthusiastic when greeting me for me to feel even an ounce of comfort. I'd have to practice socialization, I realized, if I were ever to survive in such a small town. I was on my way down one of the short aisles, trying in vain to find a spice mix to my liking, when my name was called from somewhere behind me.

"Isabella, right?"

I scrounged up my nose at the use of my full name and turned around.

He was a few inches taller than me, his hair matching that of a California surfer by the color, although it was cropped short. His face was still kind of boyish, his cheeks round and slightly red from the wind that was currently roaming about outside. He strode confidently towards me, holding out his hand, an eager puppy-dog expression adorning his features.

"I'm Mike. Mike Newton,"

Resisting the temptation to roll my eyes, I plastered on a polite – and extremely fake – smile.

"Hello Mike, Mike Newton,"

He roared with laughter at my weak attempt at a joke, making Daisy start in her position by the cash register and momentarily distracting her from her nails. She shot me a skeptical look and I subtly winked at her, which in turn made her giggle silently to herself.

"You just moved here, right? In that big house outside of town?"

It was clear that Mike had done his homework, and I briefly wondered if his efforts had been this hard had the Brown family never consisted of a 17 year old girl.

"A month ago," I nodded, "and please, call me Bella,"

Mike practically beamed at the prospect of being on nick-name basis with the new girl already.

"Everyone does," I added hurriedly, in case he'd gotten the wrong idea.

"Well _Bella_," Mike smirked, "I'm glad to finally meet you. The whole town's been talking about you for weeks,"

My face fell.

"Oh… that's just… just great," I replied forlornly.

"No worries, I've kept them in check – the rumors haven't been too bad so far," Mike pushed his chest out importantly, as though he'd taken it upon himself to protect me from small-town gossip.

"Uh, thanks?"

"Anyway, I'm glad I ran into you – some of us were thinking about stopping by your house in a couple of days, and this way I'll save us the gas money,"

"Was there something in particular that you wanted?"

"There's going to be a huge bonfire down at the beach on the reservation this Saturday. It's the last chance we get to hang out before school starts. It's also a nice way for you to meet some of the students at Forks High," Mike explained, clearly showing signs of having thought this well through. There was no way for me to decline when he presented the invitation the way he did; if I said no I'd come off as haughty and disinterested, which of course would ruin my poor reputation before the school even started.

"Ok," I nodded dejectedly, "I'll be there,"

"Great!" Mike said, giving me the thumbs-up in the process, "I'll see you Saturday,"

"See you,"

I walked out of the small shop feeling utterly exhausted, Mike's mood not at all infectious. I guess I'd have to dread Saturday instead, then. On the other side, it wasn't all bad: hopefully I'd make a few acquaintances and the hype around me would've already died down by the time school started.

The first time the sun made its presence known since I'd moved to Forks was the same day I prepared to spend an entire evening on a beach with a crowd of unfamiliar teenagers. They must've watched the weather report and chosen this exact day to hold their bonfire, or else it would've surely drowned in the constant rain. My mother picked out an outfit for me, making sure I looked my best before heading out the door. First impressions were always important, and it didn't hurt to clean up once in a while – mom's words, not mine. That's why I was currently tugging at the hem of a dark brown tunic, making sure it covered every part of my behind; the beige leggings I wore didn't leave much to imagination. My hair was straightened and down for the occasion as there were no danger of it curling in strange ways in the dry weather. I had my headband with me just in case though, tucked safely in my purse. Next to it laid a small digital camera that my mom had pushed into my hands before exiting the front door – she demanded complete documentation of the night. I hoped there wouldn't be any alcohol involved, or those pictures might give her a premature heart attack. I knew there was no danger of me drinking, but I didn't think drunken teenagers would give my parents a good first impression of the younger population of Forks. Maybe I'd just keep the camera hidden and tell my mom I forgot about it in my haste to make new friends. I'm sure she'd buy that. The reservation was a nice place, the vegetation even wilder here than in town, making the whole scenery seem impossibly green. What was named First Beach stretched before my eyes, the ocean a clear blue and reflecting the cloudless sky above. It wasn't too hot to be outside, the wind carrying waves with it and pushing them up shore, keeping the temperature moderate in the process. It was, in lack of a better word, borderline idyllic. I wasn't the first to arrive, as it was already close to seven pm; teenagers stood in groups or sat in pairs on the occasional driftwood scattered around the sandy beach. Not far from the outskirts of the forest – though far enough so that the leaves wouldn't be in any danger should a glow go astray – was the bonfire, already reaching high up in the air and glowing as the sun set in the distance. I stood still for a good five minutes, simply observing and testing the moods of the young adults in front of me. They all seemed nice enough. I captured Mike's eyes, and the smile that lit up his face made me cringe, realizing I hadn't dulled what I sensed to be growing interest on our last accouter. I couldn't let Mike think he had any chance with me; no matter how great of a guy he was, I could already tell there would be no romantic feelings on my part. He wasn't my type.

"Bella!" He called, waving me over.

Several of his friends turned towards me with big eyes as he made my presence known, and I tentatively closed the distance between us, making sure not to trip on the way. Several small, sharp rocks stuck up from the sand, and I could clearly picture myself losing my footing on one of them.

"Isabella Brown?" A girl said, her brown curls bouncing up and down as he met me half way.

"Bella Swan," I corrected her and shook her hand. "Adopted," I answered when she frowned at me.

"Oh… Oh!" She said, her eyes growing even wider, as if such a thing as adoption was entirely new to her.

"Stop staring Jess," Another girl tsk'd, this one's hair slightly shorter and a more rich brown color. She too offered me her hand in greeting.

"Sorry, Bella, adoption is not a common thing around here. I'm Angela, and this is Jessica," she laughed.

Jessica sent me a sheepish smile, before glaring daggers at her friend. Clearly, the interruption was not welcomed. So far, I liked Angela better.

"Nice to meet you," I said politely and followed them towards Mike and his friends. It wasn't long before I had several hands thrust at me, along with names I would never be able to remember at first try. It was all a bit overwhelming, especially for such a normally reserved girl like me. Sensing my discomfort, Angela soon pushed me down on a large rock, offering me a grilled marshmallow. I accepted it and let the sweet mush fill my mouth, preventing me from saying anything stupid. My nerves were thin-stretched, and I wondered if this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Mike kept talking non-stop, mostly about himself, and I pretended to listen. He was really energetic and hard to keep up with, but at least no one could blame me for not trying. People were really interested in the fact that I was adopted, although clearly being more tentative about it than Jessica had. I had no problems answering their questions, simply telling the story I'd told countless of times before: my parents died when I was just a baby, I spent the following years at an orphanage, I was adopted a month before I turned eight and my new parents had decided I'd keep my last name out of respect for my biological family. Of course now I had to add in the circumstances around my moving to Forks, but that was an easy task: we moved because we got tired of the dry climate back in Phoenix and needed a change. My speech was flawless, being rehearsed beforehand, and I met no significant obstacle until a Quileute native from the reservation spoke up.

"We had a Charlie Swan living here years ago, before he moved to Phoenix and got killed in an accident. I know had a daughter, and that she stayed there after he was gone. You wouldn't know if it's the same Swan, would you?"

I froze. Now _this_ I hadn't prepared for. To my complete surprise, however, Mike came to my rescue.

"Of course not," he scoffed, "you can say whatever you want about the world, but it isn't _that_ small, Jake,"

The boy named Jake merely shrugged, completely oblivious to my inner distress. For the very first time in my 17 year old life I'd come across someone who knew of my biological father. I doubted this Jake guy had ever met Charlie Swan – the native was clearly a couple of years younger than I was, and probably wasn't even born by the time my dad died – but it was obvious he knew someone who had once been, if not a friend, then an acquaintance of my father. My curiosity perked immediately and before I managed to stop myself, I asked the question that plagued my mind.

"How do you know my father?"

Both Mike and Jake stared at me – Jake in surprise, and Mike in defeat; he had, after all, been wrong when sticking up for me.

"Err, uh…" Jake stuttered, before composing himself, "My old man has told me about him. They grew up together; they were fishing buddies and later on co workers,"

"Really?" I said slowly.

"Yep," Jake nodded as he tucked a piece of his long, brown hair behind his ear.

Deciding this wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with Mike and his other buddies hanging around, I let the subject drop. I'd find a way to get Jake alone later on – I was craving to hear everything he could tell me about the mystery that were my parents.

The moment presented itself a few hours later. The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, the only light now coming from the massive bonfire, along with the stars scattered around on the evening sky. I'd been correct in assuming there would be alcohol involved during our little get-together, and with every beer that Mike downed, the louder he got. Fortunately, his good mood stayed put, but I could only listen to the same story so many times; he kept telling people about the time he went skiing with his parents in the Alps. His parents did not have the lead roles in his tale; no, that position was reserved for a cute Swedish girl whom he'd gotten to know _real_ close during their vacation. The strange thing was that while bragging about his sexual encounters, he still managed to flirt with me; his arm taking up permanent residence around my waist. I subtly rolled my eyes, wondering if I was supposed to be impressed. Clearly, he thought I should. Angela, who'd been drinking of a dark-tinted bottle, giggled next to me, offering me some of her drink. I politely declined, making up some story about my parents having over-sensitive noses. This made her laugh even more. Besides me, Jake was the only one not drinking, stating he was only 15 years old and son of the retired Chief Police no less. This reminded me of my upcoming interrogation, seeing as the boy had unknowingly told me one more thing about my father: if his old man was the Chief Police and used to work alongside my biological father, that could only mean one thing: when alive, Charlie Swan was a police officer. I cringed; had he been alive, he'd most likely been very disappointed in his lawless daughter.

"Jake," I hissed under my breath a few moments later as Mike left my side to go grab another beer from the cooling bag.

He raised a thick eyebrow at me, his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

"Bella?"

"Take a walk with me?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, but then shrugged, "Sure,"

We managed to cover a small distance with our shuffling feet, leaving the others and the bonfire behind, before I finally worked up the courage to say something.

"Tell me about yourself, Jake," I said. I didn't want to come off as rude by demanding every tiny detail about my adoptive father. First, I needed Jake to warm up to me so that my questions wouldn't make him uncomfortable later on.

He laughed, his voice naturally hoarse and deep, despite his young age.

"Well first, my name isn't Jake,"

I stopped midstride, perplexed.

"It's Jacob. Jacob Black,"

I smiled shyly and nodded, resuming my walking, "My name isn't Bella,"

"It's Isabella," Jake finished, "I guess we have that in common – both preferring nick-names over original ones,"

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Second, I should be asking questions about you, not the other way around. You're the new kid,"

"Well, I already shared my life story with numerous people back there, including you,"

"The edited version of it, anyway," Jake pointed out.

"I'm not that interesting," I shrugged.

"I think you are,"

I didn't like the way this conversation was going, and shot Jake a dark look. He merely laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine, fine. I'll go first, but you have to promise to tell a little more about yourself in return,"

That seemed fair enough.

"Deal,"

We'd reached the sea shore, the waves nonexistent now that the wind had died down. I noticed for the first time that Jake wasn't wearing any shoes. I halted and stepped out of my flats, joining him by stepping into the water.

"It's nice. Colder than expected," I commented.

"It usually is," Jake agreed.

We continued walking, our footprints quickly being washed away behind us.

"So?" I urged after a while.

"Well I'm obviously a native," Jake winked teasingly.

I had to laugh, "You don't say,"

"I've been living here, at the rez, my entire life. I guess I'll stay here for the rest of it as well,"

"How come?" I asked.

"I like it here," Jake shrugged, "and my family has been living here for generations. I don't see a reason to break the tradition,"

"Must be nice," I muttered, "belonging somewhere,"

"It is,"

"So, uh… Charlie Swan used to spend some time down here, too?" I fished, not able to contain myself.

"I knew where this was headed," Jake smiled.

"Sorry," I said embarrassed.

"Don't be. I gather you don't know a lot about you father?"

"Close to nothing. Up until tonight I only knew he used to live here,"

"How come?" Jake asked, frowning a bit.

I sighed, "I don't know. No one really knew him, I guess. I heard an old friend of him ID'd his body after the accident, but no one were able to reach him later on. When seeing me at the orphanage, my adoptive parents were told that I'd been in a car accident, and I'd been the only lucky enough to survive. My real parents names were Renee and Charlie Swan – Renee grew up in Phoenix and met my father there. I haven't really considered asking what they did for a living, not until you mentioned your father's occupation earlier,"

"Ah, you figured that one out," Jake nodded. His face had changed however, although it was only a subtle difference. I could tell that something about my story didn't sit well with him. No wanting to push my luck, I let it pass.

"A police officer? Really?" I asked.

"He would've been Chief Police Swan had he been alive today,"

"Huh,"

"They were wrong, though," Jake said after a while. He was worrying his bottom lip, his brown eyes fixed on his feet.

I turned towards him, "Who?"

"The people at the orphanage. Charlie met Renee here in Forks. She was only passing through, but I guess it was love at first sight. He went to Phoenix with her,"

"He did that for her?" I asked incredulously.

"Yep, he packed it all up and left,"

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Jake confirmed.

"Wow,"

"I know. Dad tried talking him out of it though, telling him he was acting foolish. Apparently, Charlie Swan wasn't really impulsive by nature,"

"He must've really loved her," I mused.

"I guess," Jake shrugged, "besides, Renee was already pregnant with you at the time,"

"Well damn,"

Jake chuckled at my small outburst, "Indeed. She was only in town for a month,"

I grimaced, "How romantic,"

"But it kind of is, though," Jake pointed out.

I gave him a skeptical look.

"How so? To me it only sounds, well, foolish. And kinda trashy,"

"At least you know they weren't able to keep their hands off each other," he joked.

"Or use protection," I cut in.

Jake snorted at that, "You really are cynical,"

"Comes with age," I mocked.

"You're only making fun of yourself, you know," Jake smirked.

I laughed. I really liked this guy – he could be a good buddy in the future.

"Look, I'd love to tell you more, Bella, but it's getting late," Jake suddenly said as he stopped walking. We'd been closing in on the bonfire again, and I saw that some people were packing their belongings in order to leave.

"Oh," My heart dropped. I wasn't ready to end this conversation yet.

"Look, do you have a cell?" Jake asked out of nowhere. I pulled my old Samsung out of my purse and handed it to him. He quickly saved his number and gave it back to me.

"Send me a text, and we can meet up some day,"

"You'll tell me the rest?" I asked.

"Sure. Anything you want to know," Jake assured, giving me that half-smile again, "and don't forget – you owe me a story of your own,"

I headed towards my new friends, calling over my shoulder, "Sure. Thanks Jake,"

"Anytime Bella," was the reply I got before he met up with his native friends and headed home.

I told Mike goodnight, leaning away when he tried to peck me on the mouth. The beer-stench radiating off of his body sickened me, and I wasn't about to dive in for a make-out session with that.

"See you in a couple of weeks, Bella," Angela said as she hugged me, momentarily steadying herself by grabbing my shoulders.

"Looking forward to it," I smiled, really meaning it for once. Angela could see the honesty for what it was and beamed.

"Yeah see you Bella," Jessica said, smiling. It was as fake as her manicure, but I thought nothing of it. Being from Phoenix, I was used to girls like her.

Before long I found myself in my parents' BMW, heading home. My mind kept replaying the conversation I'd had with Jake over and over again, and I knew sleep wouldn't come easy tonight. It was time I got some answers, and to do so, I knew there was really only one person I wanted to talk to: the former Chief Police. And Jake would make sure I got my wish – I'd just have to get around asking him first, hoping my new friends was as emphatic and good as he'd seemed.


	4. Dreams and Voices

**A/N: **I hope as time passes that I'll get more readers. Until then, I'll just keep writing.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Twilight or any of its original characters - all credit goes to Meyer. I do own the Brown family, however, and other OC's that may show up later in the story.

**Warnings:** Rated M to be safe. This story contains mentioning of alcohol abuse and paranoia, underage drinking, self-destructive behavior and cursing.

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**Chapter 3 – Dreams and Voices**

It was sunny again. Sunny in a way I never thought possible for Forks – the whole sky was glowing by an unseen light, stronger than any sun could conjure up. The heat hit me with force, my pale skin standing in stark contrast to the green that surrounded me. No late-summer breeze could be detected, not even a whisper of movement among the flowers around my feet; because there was no wind, they stood completely still. I breathed in their scent that lingered in the air around me, and smiled. This was heaven. My mahogany locks reflected the sunlight as I moved forward, my bare feet swimming in the numerous pedals. I was standing in the middle of a meadow situated somewhere outside of Forks, hidden amongst the tall trees that surrounded it. They stood tall and dark, full of mysteries and untold tales, hiding its inhabitants from my sight. I wasn't afraid – as long as I stayed in this meadow I was safe. I carefully laid down, my dress riding up my thighs in the process. No worries, no one would see me. The grass welcomed my body; working as a soft mattress to support my back as I rested my head on the cardigan I'd brought with me should it get chilly. How foolish of me, to think of Forks as a cold place to live. This was the warmest and most content I'd ever been. I closed my eyes, seeing only red and yellow behind my lids, darkness could not find me here. I felt a small smile play on my lips as I exhaled, my fingers gripping on green and red and blue, never pulling, just _feeling_. Had I known such a place like this existed, I'd moved to Forks years ago. This was, after all, the greatest escape route of all; this secret meadow in the middle of nowhere. I don't know how long I just laid there, the silence too perfect to be interrupted by anything but my soft breathing and the occasional bird as it sung out to the skies. I opened my eyes after a while, a strange stirring in the pit of my stomach telling me something was not right. I sat up and stretched my arms out in front of me, groaning at the relief. And then I froze, my body jerking in surprise.

There, leaning against a tall tree trunk at the outskirts of the forest, stood a person. I could tell it was a male, even though his face was halfway hidden in the shadows. I could barely make out a pair of black pants, though, and a plain, white t-shirt, stretched tight over lean muscles. Yes, most definitely a male. Something about him made my insides churn, and I narrowed my eyes as I willed them to catch a glimpse of his face. Impossible. He stood so still I could've easily missed him, had I not felt him staring at me. Because he _was_ staring, and pretty intently at that.

"Hello?" I called out uncertainly.

No reply came.

I got to my feet and brushed invisible dirt of my dress, never breaking eye contact with this strange boy.

"Who are you?" I asked.

Still no answer.

"It's rude to stare you know," I pointed out, wanting to stomp my foot impatiently, but deciding against it.

I made a move to walk forward when the figure in the woods reacted, pushing off of the trunk.

"Isabella?"

I almost gasped. That sound; that musical, honey-covered sound, so beautiful it was almost impossible to describe escaped the boy's lips and froze me in place. My heartbeats sped up, and I felt sudden heat rise to my cheeks. The voice had sounded so lovely, like hot chocolate on a cold winter night, and the way it said my name made my body burn with long-forgotten feelings.

"Yes?" I whispered, knowing fully well it was impossible for this person to hear my reply. But then he spoke again, so he must've heard me after all.

"Stay away from me,"

And then he was gone.

I woke up, my pajama clad body covered in perspiration and sweat; the only sound that of my rapidly beating heart. My breath was coming in ragged gasps and I inhaled deeply once to calm myself down. I sat up and peeled the shirt of my body, scrounging up my nose at the damp fabric. I needed a shower, and I needed it now. I pushed the covers to the side and stepped onto the carpeted floor before treading out of the sweats I was wearing, those too equally soaked. The brightness in my bathroom made me squint, and I somehow managed to rip of my underwear and climb into the cool water mu shower produced – after a nightmare like that, I needed a refreshing wakeup call. I paused my actions for a moment, thinking back, trying to remember pieces of the dream that was already slipping away from my consciousness. No, that hadn't been a nightmare, had it? There were no scary monsters in it, no blood or gore or any stuff like that. Then why had my heart been beating so fast? I worried my bottom lip as I poured shampoo into my hand and massaged my scalp. The motion was familiar and the soothing sensation soon relaxed my tense muscles. I briefly wondered what time it was – when I'd gotten out of bed, I'd noticed it was still dark outside. I hoped my untimely shower wouldn't wake my parents up. After cleaning my hair, I grabbed a bar of soap and went to work on scrubbing the rest of my body. I made sure to rub my armpits carefully, removing them of all traces of sweat. I'd have to change the bed once I got out of the shower. I turned the faucets, deciding the water was a bit too cold. As it heated up and I continued to soap myself in, my mind still wrapped around the previous dream – or nightmare – trying to remember what it was that had caused my body and brain to work on overdrive. It wasn't until my hand reached a certain area between my legs that my mouth fell open, forming a silent "o" in surprise as I felt the moist situated there – moist that had nothing to do with the water rushing down on me. And then I saw him, like an image flashing before my eyes, the boy with the white shirt, the one with the most amazing and alluring voice I'd ever heard – so vivid and alive it felt as though he'd been in the bedroom with me. My cheeks instantly flooded with blood and I could feel my eyes grow heavy with heated emotions as I replayed the events that had taken place in my head a few minutes previous. I came back to my senses when the soap dropped out of my hand. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? I hadn't even seen his face! He could've been butt ugly for all I knew. And besides, he was only a fragment of my imagination anyway. I shook my head and turned the faucets off deciding to leave the strange dream in the past and towel myself dry. After I'd combed my hair I opened the bathroom door and made quick work of the sheets. I could almost smell my arousal on them, and my blush deepened. How embarrassing. I realized it was a long time since I'd gotten any action, but to get this worked up over nothing? I huffed in irritation and completed my task. After I was done, I shut the lights off and buried my head in my now clean pillow, willing myself to fall asleep. The digital watch situated on my bedside table showed it was only 4 am – far too early to be awake. But, as much I as I wanted to just drift off, sleep would not come. It wasn't until I put my ear buds in place and my iPod on shuffle that I finally sunk into a dreamless slumber.

I wanted to scream. It was either that, or pull at my hair in frustration. I'd been so happy after running into Jacob Black, knowing that he sat on the information I'd been dying to know for nearly my whole life. So, when he didn't pick up the phone after I'd mustered up the courage to call him a couple of days after the bonfire, I'd been incredibly disappointed. After I'd tried calling him for the third time however, I was beginning to feel irritated. By the time I'd been forced to dial his phone number _seven_ times, I was pissed. I mean, it would've been understandable if he'd given me his home number, and he was simply out with his friends doing whatever it was that 15 year olds did in a small town like this. But since it was his cell phone number saved on my phone, there were no reasons for him not to pick up. And, I'd been trying to reach him for three days. The worst part was that it all made me feel clingy – desperate even. And it was not something I was comfortable feeling. Bella Swan was _not_ clingy. I tried to see reason in the whole situation; Jacob Black had no obligations towards me, and he was free to ignore my calls if he wanted. It was childish and impolite, but he was only 15 after all.

The worst part about not being able to reach Jake was that the more distant he seemed, the more I longed to hear what he had to say. So, in order to distract myself, I offered to clean the house – twice – go shopping with my mom (ugh) and dove into yet another novel. I was brutally brought back to reality when my parents reminded me of the dreaded school that was Forks High – which suddenly was less than a day away. The following night I had the meadow dream again (as I'd chosen to call it), although no mysterious stranger was too be seen this time. I was completely alone. As the sun rose above the horizon the next morning, my stomach was in an uproar. I did _not_ want to go through with this. Mike had called me the day previous to ask if I wanted a lift to school, but I'd politely declined his offer – my parents had let me borrow the BMW for the occasion, and for that I was extremely grateful. I wanted to push off meeting Mike for as long as possible.

Which proved to be impossible. Granted, I didn't have to spend an entire car ride with him, but as I pulled into the school's parking lot, he was obediently waiting for me by his hair, all but jumping up and down once he recognized my parents' MBW. I silently let out a string of curses as I found a secluded spot before jumping out of the vehicle. Mike was at my side instantly, _hugging_ me in welcome.

"What's up Arizona?" He beamed, pulling at my wrist and forcing me into the crowd of students that were making their way towards the school's entrance.

"Eh, not much," I shrugged disinterestedly, trying not to bump into people.

"We got to get you registered in the front office first," Mike said as we walked in the double doors, "right this way,"

I hadn't even thought of that, and I found myself thanking Mike _silently _for a moment. No need to boost his ego. We made our way through the hallways, and I mused at how small this school was. So different from the one I'd went to in Phoenix. Young adults were rushing by, most of them in packs of two or three, chitchatting among themselves to catch up after the long summer holiday. Even though it was early in the morning, most girls had taken the time to wash their hair, apply perfect makeup and pick out stylish outfits. Although they were nowhere close to the girls back in Phoenix, they still managed to make me feel disheveled. At least I'd put on a long dress shirt and black leggings for the occasion – thanks to my mom – but my hair was carelessly knotted in a bun and my face was make-up free – as it was most of the time. Mike didn't seem to take notice as he beamed with pride while he showed the new girl around, and we received several looks from the other students on our way. It became clear to me that Mike was a pretty popular guy being tall and blonde as well as captain of the school's soccer team. Several people stopped us in our tracks, asking Mike about his holiday and introducing themselves to me in the process. I couldn't remember one single name besides that of Ben Cheney, as he'd been at the bonfire. He merely nodded at me, giving me my space as he punched Mike's shoulder playfully as we passed him. Jessica and Angela soon joined us, following me to the front office, and then yet another girl showed up, her hair blonde and long.

"Lauren", she said, giving me an icy stare, and I knew immediately we wouldn't hit it off.

When we reached our destination, Jessica and Lauren soon excused themselves, while Angela and Mike followed me inside the wooden doors. A middle-aged woman sat at the front desk, tapping hurriedly in a keyboard. Her attention soon shifted to me though, and she smiled warmly once I introduced myself.

"Isabella Swan – I was wondering when you'd show up,"

"Just Bella," I corrected shyly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Mike chuckled next to me.

"Well, Just Bella, I'm Mrs. Cope. I've got some paperwork you have to fill out," she said, handing me a couple of sheets, placing a pen in my other hand.

"It shouldn't take long,"

I nodded and placed the first sheet of paper on the desk, quickly filling out the blank spaces requiring everything from my full name, to my parents' cell phone numbers. When I was done, I was handed a slip my teachers needed to sign, and asked to deliver it to her by the end of the day. We walked out of the office just as the bell rang, and I quickly scanned my schedule.

"English literature," I sad to Angela and Mike's questioning stared. Angela beamed immediately, while Mike looked slightly disappointed.

"I don't have that class," Mike muttered.

"I do!" Angela cut in, linking her arm with mine.

"Show the way," I smiled. I said my goodbyes to Mike, thanking him for all of his help, before following Angela down the hallway. Mike looked forlornly after us, which I tried my best to ignore.

"You should be careful around him," Angela smiled knowingly, "he's already got it bad for you,"

"Ugh," I groaned, scrounging up my nose. "I am not looking for a boyfriend right now. And if I was, Mike is most definitely not my type,"

"Tell that to Jess," Angela said, "she's been crazy about him for years, and I think it's safe to say that she's mad with jealousy,"

"I figured as much," I sighed as we entered a classroom.

"Want to sit with me?" She asked.

"Sure,"

We placed ourselves by a couple of desks in the back after I'd given the balding teacher my slip.

"New student, eh?" He grinned. Thankfully, though, he didn't force me to introduce myself in front of the whole class – he merely informed my fellow students of my presence, which was bad enough. The class eyed me curiously, some of them whispering to their partners, making me squirm uncomfortably. The teacher soon called for everyone's attention, making me suffer in silence now that anyone weren't looking at me anymore.

The first classes went by without incident, and I was glad that most people left me to myself. As lunch neared, Mike was instantly by my side, demanding I'd sit with him. Thankfully Angela sat by that table as well, so I didn't really mind. On the other side, so did Jessica and Lauren. This was proving to be a very stressful day. The school's cafeteria was a small, bright room, with round tables scattered around the linoleum floor. Mike's table was by far the largest one, as well as the most crowded. I cringed as we found our seats, several curious eyes plastered to my hunched form. I dug my lunch out of my schoolbag, smiling slightly when I found a small cupcake along with my sandwiches. My mother was adorable sometimes.

"So Bella, what do you think of Forks High?" Jessica asked suddenly as she nibbled on an apple.

"Uh… it's OK I guess," I shrugged.

"_Just _OK?"

"Jess," Angela sighed.

"It's great," I cut in, forcing a smile.

"If you say so," Jessica replied in a sing-song voice as she shared a look with the blonde sitting next to her. I looked down at my lunch and picked crumbles of off the cupcake, trying not to meet anyone's stares. And then, suddenly, Jessica spoke again, but her voice was different this time. It sounded amazed, jealous even, and I jerked in my seat.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," she hissed.

I looked around to see who she was talking about, but to be honest it was hard to place the person she'd mentioned – several guys were staring at me.

"Who's Edward Cullen?" I asked out loud.

Jessica, Mike and Angela looked perplexed.

"There's no Edward Cullen in this school that I'm aware of," Jessica answered.

I frowned, "But you just said…?"

She raised an eyebrow at me, "I didn't say anything Bella,"

"Yes you did. Isn't that right Angela?"

"Err…no?" Angela smiled confused.

I looked to Mike, who only shook his head.

"Oh," I worried my bottom lip.

"You're hearing things now?" Jessica mocked. Lauren laughed evilly, having listened in on our conversation.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly.

"Freak," Lauren muttered.

Angela frowned, but didn't say anything. I guessed that Lauren wasn't the type of person one put in place without there being consequences.

Well that was strange. I was sure I'd heard Jessica speak, but couldn't think of why she'd deny it. Maybe I _was_ hearing things? This thought made me pale. Maybe I'd finally slipped over the edge of reason and snapped? Could that be possible? I shrugged it away immediately – I couldn't think that way, it wasn't healthy. The rest of lunch was spent with me staring down at the tabletop, only speaking when asked a direct question. Next was biology, a class I shared with Mike. To my relief however, people were already paired up with a partner last year, which meant that I got a table to myself. I'd realized during the course of the day that I was way ahead on all of the subjects, biology being no exception. This first day however, we were merely watching a movie. The teacher rolled the portable TV into the room, making the students erupt into cheers. The light was switch off and I made myself as comfortable as possible on the wooden chair, the material protesting under my light weight. It was a movie I'd already seen back in Arizona, so I let myself relax and my mind wander. In the middle of class however, a peculiar sensation settled into the pit of my stomach. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I shivered involuntary, a strange feeling of someone watching me intently making my body tense. I turned my head to the empty spot next to me, where my partner should've been seated had I had one. Of course, there was no one there. I clenched my hands into fists and tucked crossed my arms over my chest, scooting as far away from the offending spot as possible. What was it with this school that had me on edge all of a sudden? The air became thick with tension but judging by the bored looks on my fellow students, I was the only one noticing it. Clearing my throat, I shielded my face with my hair, using it as a makeshift curtain so that I no longer could see the empty seat next to me. I felt crazier by the minute.

My mom greeted me the moment I stepped foot in the hallway back home, a flower-patterned apron adorning her front.

"Dinner's almost ready, how was school, were the kids nice to you, are you behind schedule, did you get any homework yet?" She asked in one go, making me take a step back and raise my hands in surrender.

"Whoa, slow down there. School was OK, people were nice enough, I'm ahead of all of the students, and yes, I've already got homework to attend to,"

Mom frowned, "What do you mean _"nice enough"_?"

"It's a small town, and I'm the new kid. What did you expect?" I sighed, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it on the knob, "And I'm starved by the way – what's for dinner?"

"Steak," Mom beamed.

"Yummy. Is dad here?"

"No, he's off at a job interview. I'll leave some leftovers in the oven for when he returns,"

"Really? Huh, he never told me he had an interview today,"

"He's got several actually – in town and in Port Angeles," mom shrugged as she led me into the kitchen. I sat down at the dining table.

"What kind of jobs are they?"

"Management, all of them. Different stores though,"

"How exiting," I rolled my eyes.

"Oh hush you," mom chuckled as she placed a plate full of food in front of me, "whatever pays will do fine, especially in an area like this one,"

"Yeah, I guess," I smiled, popping a piece of stake into my mouth, "whatever pays,"

"I told you to stay away," he said, still standing in the same spot as before. The shadows made it impossible to make out his facial features, and I squinted my eyes angrily.

"Why don't you stay away – this is _my_ dream if you haven't noticed?"

"I can't," his answer was just above a whisper, but I still heard it. Just as I was about to take a step closer to him I bolted up in bed, my breath coming out in panting gasps. Groaning, I laid back down, turning to the side. Why was this happening to me?


End file.
